Beyond the Fallen Star
by mvdiva
Summary: Chapter 4 finally up. What if falling stars only signified a second chance? One cowboy falls, only to find that death isn't always the ultimate ending.
1. Default Chapter

This story is a work of fiction. All characters except Jonathan are under the Cowboy Bebop copyright of Bandai and Sunrise, Inc. Be kind-please read and review, but beware: this story is going to be long.

Chapter 1: Another Beginning 

            Darkness. Solid; unending, and complete. That's the way it was supposed to be. There was no sense of self, no worries or fears…just the comforting darkness. In a way, it was better than some higher realm. Dealing with some kind of pissed-off deity wasn't the way he wanted to spend eternity.

            Just drifting here with no thoughts…like a deep sleep. _No dreaming this time…I've finally earned it._ Wait, was it that simple? And then the lazy swirling of vibrant colors disturbed the restful darkness. Whatever consciousness he still had pulled back in resistance. The colors swarmed around, filling in his dark world and coalescing into wordless shapes.

            There was no way for him to block out the scenes that began to play before him. No eyelids to close, and no head to turn away. There was no escaping the images that told his life. Whatever part of him still existing tried to scream, tried to block out all the misery and the pain that had existed for him and still tormented him now. 

            This was no blissful oblivion. There had never existed a bit of hope in his heart that he would ever make it to the heaven that so many religions reached for, but Hell has never been far from him. Every aching year of his live had further proved that life was only a brief respite from hell. But this never-ending loop of his life playing before him was almost more than he could bear. 

            It was almost as if someone was taunting him. Each piece of his life displayed in front of him drew up the accompanying memory, often more painful when remembered. The colors wrapped themselves about him and played out his own personal drama until they suddenly disappeared.

            He would have looked around, but the colors and images were gone as fast as they could come, and then he was no longer in that strange otherworld.

~

            The first thought that came to him was a small nagging at the back of his mind that something had happened. It scratched at him, pawing at a memory that seemed to slip past his grip. He made a grab for it, but only caught enough to remember that he had been somewhere, and now he was somewhere else.

            Too vague. He stretched again into the recess of his mind, but stopped short when he realized the scratching he had associated with his memory was actually an itch begging for relief on his forehead. Once he had recognized that factor, millions of other complaints came to his attention.

            Everything hurt. And knowing that, he slowly took a mental inventory of his injuries. Shoulder, stomach, leg…all pulsing pain in time to the quick beating of his heart-wait, back up.  That wasn't right. And then, like a cold splash of water, everything came pouring back to him.

            The fight, his death, and even…Hell? Had that been it? He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about anything. The pleasant nothingness before the colors and memories had been a good idea, and he wanted to go back. It was too exhausting to be alive, not to mention depressing, considering his track record. He decided to go back to being dead right after a drink of water to unstick his throat, which felt like someone had wedged an entire peanut butter sandwich down it.

            Spike cracked open one eyelid, and immediately shut it again, brows furrowing against the cold sterile overhead lights. Come to think of it, the rest of him was cold too. He rested a minute, and for the first time, heard the rhythmic beeping of a machine. _Machines? That means I'm probably in a hospital. _The intense loathing that rose in him was the urging he needed to fully open first one eye, and then the other. The ceiling blurred, and came into focus as he blinked several times. 

He was aware of being cold again. With a little effort, he rolled his head far enough to the left and right to look at his surroundings. It seemed like his was lying on a cushion in the middle of a large laboratory, but looks could be deceiving.

Grunting lightly, he raised his head. _Oh, wonderful. At least we've solved that problem._ His chest was bare, and there was only a slight cloth covering his midsection and groin. Well, that was the answer to why it was so damn cold in this room. Some modesty, maybe a pair of pants would have been nice. 

All he wanted to do now was to get the hell out of whatever place this could be, hopefully with his dignity intact. The only problem was, neither arm would obey his mental commands, which would make it significantly difficult to do much of anything. The day's exertions had already been enough for a guy that had most likely been dead a while, and the green-haired man dropped off into a normal sleep.

~

He looked so innocent lying on the defrost table that the nervous young man standing near the door hesitated, syringe in hand. It was so easy to imagine his patients as whatever he wanted while they slept, but they had all disappointed him upon reawakening. Still, his orders were clear, and the young man wasn't about to defy them.

His soft-soled shoes squeaked loudly as he made his way across the linoleum, but the lanky man took no notice on the table. He only sighed lightly in his sleep as the young scientist gently inserted the final dose of the post-stasis drug into his system. With a final glance back, the young man made his exit; first from the laboratory, and then from the building, tossing his lab coat and identification into a trash compactor in a nearby dumpster.

All his hopes dwelt on the sleeping green-haired Lazarus, who would receive the best anonymous care possible in the next two weeks, and then released into an anonymous life by an anonymous order, no questions asked. It was time to set his plan into motion.

WELCOME BACK, COWBOY… 


	2. Dead Men Tell No Tales

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Disclaimer: All characters in this story except Jonathan and Dr. Gaul are the property of Sunrise, Inc. and Bandai Entertainment. No money was made off this ode to my favorite green-haired cowboy. (Sorry for the cliché title. Nothing better came to mind.)

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Chapter 2: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Spike woke up feeling disoriented. Hoping to make the feeling go away, he kept his eyes closed while he tried to remember where he was. The incessant beating of the heart monitor was enough to remind him.

Slowly, he wiggled the fingers on both hands, and then his toes. Everything was just fine there. The aches and pains from his first awakening had also faded, and he felt about as good as one could who didn't know where they were or what was going on.

With a grunt, he sat up all at once, and instantly regretted it. The white room spun around him, and he quickly propped himself up on his elbows. Gradually, the room slowed down as he practiced calmly breathing in and out.

"You probably should have taken that first step a little slower, friend." Cautioned a quiet voice behind him. Spike tensed, cursing himself for not noticing the other presence immediately, and glanced over his right shoulder to where the older man stood at the doorway. "It's been a long time since any of your muscles have been used. Most likely, you'll have to do some reconditioning to get everything back into tip-top shape."

The portly balding doctor continued to prattle happily to himself as he checked the various monitors surrounding and attached to Spike's body. For his part, Spike relaxed slightly, and let him do his work, hoping to catch onto some small detail as to where he was and how long he had been there.

During the course of the absent-minded doctor's ramblings, Spike learned next to nothing, except the fact that he was somewhere safe, his medical bills had been taken care of, and that his body would need physical therapy.

That much was obvious. The doctor, who introduced himself simply as Gaul, took hold of Spike's right arm, and told him to flex his bicep. With a shrug, Spike complied. To his surprise, his arm barely responded to his mental urging.

Gaul shrugged at his amazement. "It's not all that surprising, really. My assistant gave you the last dose of the post-cryogenic drug, and your body has yet to catch up with your brain." He scratched his head and frowned. "In fact, my assistant disappeared right after your last dose. Oh well." He reached up to tap Spike on the head, who jerked back in reflex. 

The doctor laughed. "Well, no problem there. I think you'll be back to your old self in no time." He pulled what Spike had thought to be a pen out of his coat pocket, and shone the light into each of his eyes individually. 

Spike's good eye reacted normally, causing him to wince, but the other merely stayed frozen. "Your cybernetic eye will catch up with the change in your body chemistry soon, also. Have you been having any problems with it?" It was, of course, a particularly life-like replica, but the Red Dragon doctors had always assured him no normal doctor would be able to tell the difference. 

Seeing his reaction, Gaul smiled paternally and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. All of your medical records are safe here, and you'll receive the best care." Spike opened his mouth to reply, but all the questions he had planned on asking came barreling out at once, and he could only stutter out a few words.

The doctor held up a finger. "Ah. I almost forgot." He made his way over to a small cart across the room, and returned with a small orange pill and a cup of water. Returning, he held them out to Spike, who only regarded them suspiciously. "Don't worry, Spike Spiegel. This is only a general vitamin to ward off any infections that might try to get into your immune system before it has a chance to get to 100 percent efficiency."

He motioned for Spike to take them. _Nothing to lose, nothing to gain._ Spike thought, and the pill was gone in a second, followed by the cold, pure water. He licked up the last drop, and eyed Gaul, who was watching him expectantly.

"Am I supposed to turn into some kind of lizard now?" Spike managed. The doctor paused, looked hard at him for a second, and burst into a surprisingly bright peal of laughter. He calmed down long enough to tell Spike to lie back down and get some rest, and shuffled slowly out of the room, still chortling to himself.

Spike leaned back and stretched out on his bed. "One thing common to every hospital," He muttered, and shifted onto his right side. "The beds suck." With his right arm securely tucked under his head, he drifted off to sleep, wishing they'd at least turn the lights off.

As soon as Gaul exited the patient's room, his slumping posture straightened, and his steps quickened with an urgency that he didn't feel. At the end of the secured hallway, he typed a high access password into the number pad, and hidden elevator doors silently swung open.

He stepped inside, and punched a number for the higher levels of the building. A voice crackled across the hidden intercom. A raspy man's voice simply asked, "Did he take it?" Gaul smiled sadly to himself, and faced the door. "He took it." The voice purred, "Good." And there was a click as the hand attached to the disembodied voice clicked off the connection. 

As soon as he heard it, Gaul slumped against the side of the elevator, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Soon it would all be over, and he could go back to his life again, assuming he still had one. It was going to be a long day. 

Above him in the elevator shaft, smoothly oiled gears and cables suddenly ground to a halt. Down in the car, the lights blanked out. There was one strangled scream, and then silence.

Down in the white room, Spike slept on.

__

IT'S GONNA BE A LONG DAY.


	3. Another Beginning

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Disclaimer: All characters except Jonathan are copyright of Sunrise Inc. and Bandai. No infringement intended, besides, I have no money to be sued for. Sorry for the long wait between updates O faithful readers. I promise to get the next one (which WILL be longer!) posted hopefully over Thanksgiving break. (TGI…Thanksgiving?) As always, please read and review. Thanks.

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Chapter 3: Another Beginning

Spike's next awakening left him feeling refreshed. As he slowly rolled to a sitting position, he stretched his long limbs. _Looks like everything's back to normal_. Every finger flexed the way it was supposed to, and aside from some stiffness in his neck, he felt like his old self. 

Around him, the white room continued in its medical state of near silence. "Well, where's the party?" Spike said aloud. The words seemed to echo in the vastness of the room. He was pretty sure that whoever had decided to drag him back from the grave had installed at least a few cameras for observation, so he made a cursory check, covered by a few more yawns and stretches. 

There was almost certainly at least one camera up in the right corner. It looked like a normal electrical panel to him, but the steadily blinking red light was a dead giveaway. _I may have been dead, but I've never been stupid._ He tossed back the light sheet, and swung his legs over the side, swinging them gently back and forth. 

With a little sigh, he hopped onto the cold tile floor and winced. His calf muscles shrieked in protest as he hung onto the bed and hobbled his way around its circumference. By the time he made it all the way around, he was breathing hard. The climb back into bed took all his remaining strength, and he collapsed in a heap, green hair splayed over his pillow. 

Black dots swam in front of his eyes, and he blinked and focused on breathing until they went away. When he was able to lift his head again without feeling woozy, the path to the door looked as if it had suddenly become a distant speck on the horizon. He let his skull drop back onto the pillow with a _thump._

Suddenly, this bed didn't feel so bad. It was almost pathetic how easily getting out of bed and walking to the door would have been for him before…and now, well, he was reduced to a limp bag of flesh. 

He wanted to get to that door. It was his way out of this high-tech room and away from whoever was funding his medical bills. Nothing good ever came from waking up in a strange room-that much he had learned from standing in the stifling bathroom so long ago listening to Faye's past.

Faye and Jet…it was the first time he had thought about any of them since waking up. Where were they? How long had he been…well, gone? The idea of screwing up being dead was too much to handle. _Tomorrow, I'm going to make it to that door._ Spike thought, and raised an imaginary cigarette to his lips with his right hand.

He was asleep once again before his arm could return to his side. Outside the Syndicate-funded hospital, life continued on. 

__

JUST TAKE IT STEP BY STEP**…**


	4. Dive Right In

A/N: I am so very sorry that I haven't touched this or any of my other CB stories in, um, years. I truly enjoy the Bebop universe, and I missed my time away. However, I'm back now with some fresh ideas for this horribly neglected fic, so let's see where the story takes us.  
  
Chapter 4: Dive Right In  
  
Spike next awoke to the feeling of probing hands. He shot up, hands clenched. A startled young woman in medical white stared at him. A clipboard held precariously in her hand swung up, as if it had plans to defend its master. She swallowed nervously, giving him a feeble grin.  
  
"Sorry about that." Slender fingers grasped for a lock of curly brown hair, twisting it around the nervous digits as they stared at each other. pike relaxed slowly when his senses told him she posed no threat. The girl was probably no older than twenty, and she looked too innocent to be wherever here was. He nodded at her finally, watching as the girl hooked an old- fashioned stethoscope into her ears and timidly approached him, waiting to see what he would do.  
  
He hadn't noticed earlier, but a cart full of suspicious-looking medical things waited patiently at his bedside. "Mind if I do a few quick shots?" Spike glanced at her. Maybe she would be good for some information. "Only if you'll answer some questions."  
  
Her lips tightened into a thin line before offering him a quick smile. It never touched her eyes, and Spike lay down suspiciously. "Where are we?" The girl glanced at the camera he had noticed in the corner, and then down at her cart. Her hands expertly took his pulse and scribbled something on the clipboard. Silence stretched out.  
  
She finally reached across, appearing to check something on his left shoulder, and whispered frantically into his ear. "You're on Mars. It's not a good place, and we're doing what we can to help you get out as soon as possible. Just focus on healing." The tips of her curly hair trailed across his chest, and Spike fought the urge to twitch away.  
  
There was an instant of pain, and he hissed slightly as she jabbed him with something before slapping on a small bandage. "My name is Samantha, by the way." She faked another smile, and glanced quickly at the camera.  
  
"I guess you already know mine." Spike said, and saw real humor creep into her eyes. Samantha nodded, and he watched the hair bounce against the soft curve of her lab coat. The color was mesmerizing, a hint of something natural and alive in this world of white. He watched as she moved to the various machines around him, tapping out commands and frowning slightly to herself.  
  
The movement was calming, restful – almost enough to make him forget that this was a hospital. Maybe it wasn't a hospital. Samantha continued to type across the room, and whatever had been in that last shot was beginning to make him sleepy. He meant to close his eyes only for a second, but knowing that somebody was on his side was calming. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Spike thought, and slipped into sleep.  
  
A machine monitoring his brainwaves beeped quietly, and the young woman tapped the edge of the console thoughtfully before tearing her eyes away from the computer screen. He really was quite handsome, despite the paleness of his tan skin. The white sterility of the room caused the eye to flow naturally to the man's sleeping form. His deep breathing was hypnotic, and she watched until a gentle tone at her wrist signaled an incoming call. Samantha took a calming breath before switching to an audio-only channel. "Hello?"  
  
The voice on the other end sighed. "Did you lose track of time? You were supposed to meet me ten minutes ago." She glanced at the glowing numbers on her wrist and uttered a soft curse.  
  
"I'll be there just as soon as I finish up here." There was a crackle of static on the other end, and the signal was lost. No matter. The various machines were probably interfering with the com unit, but she hurriedly began gathering up the various medical charts and supplies scattered about.  
  
The com unit signaled again, and Samantha almost dropped the stack of papers. "What do you want, Jon?"  
  
"Sammie." There was a hint of urgency in his voice. "Make sure Spike's okay. Is he sleeping?" She glanced over. A lock of green hair had fallen across his face. He would probably need a haircut and a decent shave when next he woke, but she fingered the hair almost tenderly. "Yeah, he's out."  
  
"Then get going. Any more lingering and you're going to start looking even more suspicious. I'll meet you outside." She nodded absently, forgetting he couldn't see her. "I'll be there."  
  
The call ended with a click, and she patted the sleeping man's face. "So long, Spike. I'll see you soon." Her supplies gathered, Samantha beat a hasty retreat not noticing as her patient turned his head to watch as security doors opened to release her into a silvery corridor.  
  
Spike waited as long as he dared before slipping off the bed to weakly stumble his way over to the monitors, security camera be damned. He cursed and tumbled hard when the floor seemed to heave and quake beneath him. The crappy loincloth he had tucked in fluttered down around his ankles.  
  
I hope whoever is watching enjoyed that. He thought, and once again secured the flimsy material around his waist before edging over to the bank of monitors. Of all the people he knew, he wished Ed were here right now to do her computer magic. Unfortunately the entire Bebop crew probably thought he was dead. Spike sighed once, lamenting. Then he cracked his knuckles and paused over the keyboard, praying the few computer lessons he had learned from the red-haired kid had not been wasted. Time to get some questions answered.  
  


_AROUND AND AROUND HE GOES, WHERE HE STOPS NO ONE KNOWS…_


End file.
